


Come to your senses

by shedrovemehere



Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21899056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shedrovemehere/pseuds/shedrovemehere
Summary: Last night, Hiromu had come out with a guitar case full of flowers. Mocking him. Like he was sayingremember what you used to be, when you thought maybe someone could ever want you?----Zack stays with Despy the night after his run-in with Hiromu.
Relationships: El Desperado | Mikami Kyosuke/Zack Sabre Jr.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31
Collections: NJPW Winter Gift Exchange 2019





	Come to your senses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dirtylittlewar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtylittlewar/gifts).

Zack’s in Despy’s bed with him, that’s the first thing he notices when he wakes up. He’s not really surprised. They drank a lot last night.

This happens a lot. It’s not a romantic thing, Zack just sleeps there; Despy’s place is close to the bars Suzuki-gun likes to frequent, and Despy’s bed is big enough for both of them, so why not?

But Despy sometimes wonders if Zack drinks with him, at least in part, so he has an excuse to stay. He gets the distinct feeling that Zack wants to kiss him, a lot of the time. Maybe Zack loves him. He tries to ignore it; Zack is too effusive, too _obvious_ about his love. Despy doesn’t know what to do with it. Zack’s a good enough person, he guesses. He’s handsome. But he’s just _here_, what does that even mean? Despy never could figure out how to love someone he didn’t have to chase.

_Why don't you come to your senses?  
_ _You been out ridin' fences for so long now  
_ _Oh, you're a hard one  
_ _But I know that you got your reasons  
_ _These things that are pleasin' you  
_ _Can hurt you somehow_

He's never seen Zack be anything but a heartless bastard to other people. It’s kind of admirable. But there’s something about the sweet way he turns toward Despy in his sleep, and the way he looks at Despy when he’s had a few drinks. Why Zack? Why him, this guy who wears all his emotions on his sleeve? All he wants from Despy is _connection_. What the fuck? Didn’t Despy want to be like that, at some point? Whatever, now it’s hateful. Zack’s niceness makes Desperado’s skin crawl, even if he feels a little bad about it. It’s just… _there._ It’s too easy, right? What’s love that you don’t have to fight for? How is it a prize if you don't have to extract it from a stone?

Despy looks over at Zack, who’s drooling a little. He takes a picture and sends it to the Suzuki-gun group chat. Maybe he’s a little glad Zack’s here, but on the other hand, he kind of wishes he could have woken up alone, so he could stare at the ceiling alone and be miserable alone.

Last night, Hiromu had come out with a guitar case full of flowers. Mocking him. Like he was saying _remember what you used to be, when you thought maybe someone could ever want you?_

He still winces when he thinks about bringing those roses for Ibushi. How foolish; of _course_ Despy went straight for the most unavailable person he could find. Truly a golden star; so far above what Despy—or anyone—could attain. Despy remembers thinking what a prize it would be, to finally win a look of unrestrained affection from a man who seemed incapable of giving it.

He didn’t get it, of course. There was simply no one capable—worthy—of making Ibushi’s eyes soften with love, making his face light up radiantly, Despy had decided. Of course Ibushi was aloof and princely, Despy had told himself at the time; he was untouchable, unknowable beyond his deadly skill, the type of man who doesn’t need anyone else. It was comforting, at the time.

Now Despy gets to see with painful frequency how Ibushi’s eyes look when they light up with love. Now he knows it _is_ possible, it’s just that Despy wasn’t good enough to make it happen. And now everyone else knows that too. Humiliating. Of course, _of fucking course_ Despy’s first and most grand gesture was rejected by someone who’s now half of a team with “lovers” in the name. 

_Don't you draw the Queen of Diamonds, boy  
_ _She'll beat you if she's able  
_ _You know the Queen of Hearts is always your best bet_

And Hiromu apparently thought _that_ was funny. _Keep loving me,_ he’d said, _but I hate you_. He loves everyone, he makes such a show of it. He’s so bright and full of joy, and it’s like he _knows_ it’s all Despy’s ever wanted. So free and unburdened by the brutal realities of the world. He rolls over like a playful kitten for Ospreay; he writes LOVE next to Lee’s name and shows the world. He loves Ishimori, he’d loved Ricochet. He’d even come to love Kushida, the little shit. _I hate you. I hate who you really are, under there. _He knew exactly what he was doing.

Despy sits up in bed, carefully so as not to wake Zack, though he’s not sure why he cares so much. He rubs his face, rests it in his hands.

Zack must have known how much it hurt to see Hiromu mockingly whip out those flowers, flash that warm lazy smile. Zack doesn’t drink much, but he bought every shot Despy wanted last night, kept asking him if he was okay, kept trying to take him aside to talk, to check in. It only made Despy angry that he hadn’t hidden well enough how much Hiromu hurt him. Zack was being so kind, but all Despy could think about was how blindingly fast the righteous sharp pleasure of beating Hiromu with his shitty gift had settled into empty despair; before he’d even left the ring. Because when Hiromu pulled out those flowers, just for _one fucking second_, he’d actually, stupidly, thought maybe finally someone he wanted wanted him back.

Zack shifts in his sleep, and snuggles up to Despy’s thigh, warm and soft. Despy gets out of bed as quickly as he can.

_Now, it seems to me some fine things  
_ _Have been laid upon your table  
_ _But you only want the ones that you can't get_

He watches the rain as he eats a bowl of cereal, standing shirtless in front of the window, looking out to the dreary street below his apartment.

The sad thing is, he couldn’t even have been happy about the flowers if he’d _beleived_ that Hiromu meant it—not really. He’s not sure ‘happy’ is a thing he really knows how to be, and maybe that’s okay, because at least he’s not despairing. At least no one knows what he's thinking. As the years pass, he’s felt more and more like his mask is _him._ If no one knows who he is, then he can’t disappoint anyone. When he’d first joined Suzuki-gun, it had felt like a kind of freedom; to be _just a mask_, just an angry man with deadly skill. Untouchable and aloof, right? The kind of man who doesn’t need anyone else. Liberating; _una alma sin cadenas es una alma sin cadenas,_ his mom used to say. _A soul without links is a soul without chains._ The freedom of being unknown; unknowable.

That’s why what Hiromu had said bugged him so much: Hiromu doesn’t _actually_ know _who you really are, under there._ No one does. Despy doesn’t even know if _he_ does, sometimes, or if he wants to for that matter. But Hiromu doesn’t _have_ to know who Despy really is to know that was the worst thing he could have said. The trouble with hiding in plain sight, with making your whole personality a mask: people can’t see _who you really are_, sure. But they can see _that you are hiding._ Sometimes it’s the only thing they know about you. Sometimes it’s enough.

_Oh, you ain't gettin' no younger  
_ _Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home  
_ _And freedom, oh freedom, well that's just some people talkin'  
_ _Your prison is walking through this world all alone_

Last night in his cups, Zack said _he_ liked who Despy is under the mask. Despy had almost punched him. What the fuck was he talking about? _I do love that ruthlessness, mate, _he’d said with a toothy grin, _but you’re more than a pretty face, eh?_

_Not if I can help it,_ Despy had said miserably, and Zack just giggled like he _actually _thought Despy was funny. And then Zack had hugged him for some reason, but by then Despy was too drunk to hit Zack for mocking his pain.

The idiot just kept talking. He likes how much passion Despy puts into his wrestling, how much he stands behind his brothers in Suzuki-gun. He said sometimes he notices Despy watching the doves in the park with a kind of childlike awe. _Bullshit._ Drunken noodle, heh.

Desperado watches the rain some more. It’s summer, but it looks like winter rain. It always does in Tokyo; the sky is that kind of grey that looks like it should be snowing, where you can’t tell if it’s morning or afternoon. It’s just monotonous mist.

This isn’t real summer rain. Real summer rain is like in Mexico; when the sweltering daytime gives way, in one beautiful burst, to the sweet relief of thunder and torrents of cool water. When he was a kid, he’d run out into the street with the other kids in the neighborhood to get drenched, never cared about his clothes. He’d stomp around in the puddles until his feet were bone-white and his teeth were chattering. He never cared how cold it was, because he couldn’t quite forget how oppressive the afternoon heat had been just before the storm started.

Here, there’s nothing beautiful about it. It doesn’t carry the scent of roses and there are no lush trees for it to swish over musically as it comes down; it just falls. It’s the same in England, where Zack is from. Grey. Zack says he loves it, the fool. It’s just rain. But then, maybe rain was _always_ just rain. Maybe something else makes it beautiful, or awful.

_Don't your feet get cold in the winter time?  
_ _The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine  
_ _It's hard to tell the night time from the day  
_ _You're losin' all your highs and lows  
_ _Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away?_

Zack stirs in the bed, and splays out his long limbs like a starfish, taking up the whole thing. They’ve never fucked; they’ve never even kissed, but Despy thinks about how waking up with someone in your bed is kind of nice, when it’s raining like this. It’s an old rusty, dust-covered feeling, but he follows it, because it’s better than being cold. He gets back in bed, nudging Zack out of the way. Zack snuggles up to him again, face against Despy’s thigh, and Despy suddenly wishes he was still eating his cereal. But he stays. Zack is sound asleep. Despy doesn’t quite know why, but he puts a hand on Zack’s hair, so softly; tentatively, in case he needs to make it look like an accident. Zack stirs, and Despy starts to move his hand away, but Zack nuzzles into it.

_Why don't you come to your senses?  
_ _Come down from your fences, open the gate_

“Ohayo gozaimasu,” Zack slurs, with a truly horrible accent. “Good morning, sunshine,” he says in English. “Are you feeling any better?” He keeps his eyes closed, and drapes one arm over Despy’s thigh.

Despy leans back against the wall, looks down at Zack. Such a fool, wears his heart on his sleeve.

“Yeah.”

_It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you  
_ _You better let somebody love you_   
_You better let somebody love you_   
_Before it's too late_

**Author's Note:**

> The song is "Desperado", by Eagles. I really hope you like this! Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and happy Wrestle Kingdom! :D <3


End file.
